


Learned Obedience

by SubverbalDreams



Series: The Darkness In Me: Superior Iron Man/Peter Parker/Tony Stark [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Anal Plug, Control, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dark!Tony, Dominance, Exhibitionism, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of StarkTech, M/M, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Mindfuck, Nipple Clamps, Porn Without Plot, Public Humiliation, Starker, Submission, Superior Iron Man, Verbal Humiliation, all characters are at or over the age of consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-06-22 04:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19660051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubverbalDreams/pseuds/SubverbalDreams
Summary: A continuation of The Darkness in MeSuperior Iron Man tightens his grip on Peter, who learns what it means to submit.





	1. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superior!Tony has a slight issue with jealousy. Bonus: Peter's bully gets his ass handed to him.

Peter is walking to the campus bus stop when a familiar call comes from just behind him.

_ “Hey! Penis!” _

Peter’s spine goes rigid.

_ You’ve got to be kidding me. _ Why does the world hate him so much? How can Flash Thompson be going to the same  _ college _ as him??

“Heyyyy little Penis! You come to deliver someone’s books? No way you can afford this place.”

Peter grits his teeth and keeps walking.

“No, seriously,” Flash presses on. “How are you here? Did you finally find that sugar daddy you been lookin’ for?”

“Get away from me,” Peter snarls. They’ve drawn a few other students’ attention. Oh god, it’s high school all over again. He thought he was past this.

Flash’s hand closes around Peter’s upper arm. “Don’t walk away when I’m  _ talking  _ to y—wha?”

His voice cuts off at the same moment that all the hair on Peter’s body stands up. The reason is evident a second later as he sees the cherry red Audi that’s peeling _right across_ _the lawn of the school_ straight towards them. Flash shoves Peter in front of him just as the car’s tires screech to a stop within arm’s reach.

The door slams open and  _ Tony Stark _ steps out, clad in a light blue suit with silver tie that, overall, probably costs more than Peter’s annual tuition. His dark sunglasses are no disguise for the murderous expression on his face. He doesn’t even look at Peter; he stalks right up to Flash, who backs away.

“Hey, what’s up, don’t know who you are,” Mr. Stark says, talking fast and wired, but his voice is friendly as an anvil. “Don’t really care—did I just see your  _ hands _ on him?”

Flash’s mouth flaps open and closed like a fish out of water. “Uh, uh, Pen-uh, Pete’s my buddy, sir, Mr. Stark I mean? Wow. Uh. You two know each other? We go way back, you know—”

He goes dead silent when Mr. Stark’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“Peter,” Mr. Stark says, still glaring at Flash through his sunglasses. “Do you two go  _ way back?” _

His voice alone would make Peter’s legs quake right now, but the tone in them turns his entire body to water. Peter shakes his head mutely, sees Mr. Stark tilt his head in acknowledgment.

“Thought so,” Mr. Stark says. He snatches up Flash’s hand and twists his fingers backward. There’s a muted  _ thunk  _ of something breaking beneath the skin. 

Flash screams like a nine year old girl on a roller coaster. Peter gasps and takes a step back. This isn’t his Tony. This is the  _ other. _

“Now shut your cockhole and listen up. After you leave here, I want you to get on the pussyboy hotline and tell allllll your friends that Peter Parker is  _ off limits. _ No touching, no bullying, and if I think you’ve so much as let a pigeon shit on his textbooks, I’ll make you eat your own ballsack. That sound like a fair deal?”

Flash nods frantically and squeaks out, “Yes sir!!!”

Mr. Stark knocks Flash’s arm away as he tries to grab his injured hand, then lifts the broken one and uses it to slap Flash in the face. Peter  _ almost _ feels sorry for him, as he squeals and falls to the ground.

Almost.

Mr. Stark turns toward Peter for the first time, zeroes in on him and tilts the sunglasses down to give him a naked, hungry look. Crystal blue eyes with an unnatural glow to them send Peter’s stomach melting down his legs. 

He’s still vaguely aware of the crowd of students watching them, of the phone cameras facing their way, but even that fades as Mr. Stark gets close and Peter can smell his cologne and—oh, god, it just brings last night back to him, the slap of skin on skin and the voice low in his ear, calling him a cock-hungry whore. 

He shifts his hips, trying to free his suddenly rigid cock from its confined position without touching it. Mr. Stark’s gorgeous mouth quirks in a smile that’s all darkness and knowledge.

“Peterrr,” he purrs. “Sorry I’ve been so busy. How was your first day of college?”

Peter snaps his eyes up from Mr. Stark’s lips. This is  _ insane.  _ Mr. Stark just  _ assaulted _ someone in public, yet no one’s doing anything about it. 

Mr. Stark gets all the way in his personal space, chests almost touching and Peter has to look up. He’s breathing in quick gasps, can’t help it; he feels feverish and he can’t get enough air. A tiny part of his brain is aware of Flash scrambling to his feet and running away. An even smaller part is panicked, because everyone in his new school is going to know about this by tomorrow.

But more than any of that, he’s burning with a need to feel Mr. Stark’s skin against his.

“Pete? Baby? Are you okay?” Mr. Stark tilts Peter’s chin up to look at him. At his touch, a little moan squeaks out of Peter’s throat. The man smirks down at him. He knows exactly what he’s doing to Peter. Mr. Stark bites his own lower lip and drags it through his teeth. Peter watches, mesmerized as the lip comes out, wet and glistening like a promise.

“I should put you on your knees right now,” Mr. Stark says, voice pitched low. “Stuff my cock in your mouth and let your little classmates put the video up on YouTube.  _ Clearly _ I need to put a better mark on my  _ territory.” _

His hand traces from Peter’s chin down to circle his throat,  _ squeezing _ on the last word. Peter fists his hands at his side to keep from grabbing himself through his pants.

Mr. Stark’s white teeth flash in a crooked grin. “Poor baby. Daddy broke you in, and now my cock is all you can think about, huh?” He jerks his head toward the Audi. “Get in the car. Back center seat. Shirt and pants off—leave the Converse; they’re cute. And don’t forget what we say?” He looks at Peter expectantly as he lets the last word hang in the air.

“Thank you...sir?” Peter says hesitantly. His face is blazing hot; he barely hears himself through the rushing in his ears. 

Mr. Stark chuckles, but there’s a darkness to it that pulls up goosebumps on Peter’s neck. 

“Get in the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumbl me [HERE](http://subverbaldreams.tumblr.com/fics) for more art and stories, or just to say hi.
> 
> You can also holler at me on [NewTumbl](http://subverbaldreams.newtumbl.com/); that's where the explicit stuff goes. <.< >.>


	2. Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SIM has Peter right where he wants him.

Peter slips into the middle back seat of the Audi, as ordered. His hands shake as he pulls off his jacket, then hesitate at the hem of his shirt. 

Mr. Stark settles into the driver’s seat and twists to look back at him. He dips his chin to give Peter a stern look over his sunglasses. 

“Shirt. Pants,” Mr. Stark says, as if Peter might have forgotten the order he’d given not thirty seconds ago. Peter has the full intention of giving sass back. His mouth does not comply.

“Mr. Stark, sir, where’s…” what does he even  _ call _ them, anymore? “...your other self?” 

The man takes off his sunglasses, sets them down and leans between the seats. His hand closes on Peter’s knee. The contact sends a zing of heat into Peter’s crotch. 

“I love the way you never stop thinking about me,” he says. His cerulean eyes should be enough to remind Peter that he isn’t dealing with his own Tony Stark, but the message just won’t stick in his head. His whole body aches for a repeat of what he  _ (they?) _ did to him the other night. 

“But is he alright?” His voice trembles over the question, somewhere between hunger and fear.

Mr. Stark smiles, and it’s almost tender. He leans farther in, kneeling on his own seat so he can brush Peter’s cheek with his knuckles. 

“Aren’t you just the sweetest boy,” he breathes (Peter’s temperature rockets up another million degrees), then he rolls his eyes in concession. “My shadow self is back at the tower. We’ve come to an agreement, for now. There, I gave you yours. Now it’s your turn.” 

He slips back into his seat and waits, watching Peter in the rear view mirror. Students continue to pass by outside the windows of the car. Peter glances at them, then at Mr. Stark, who points toward the window as if only just noticing.

“Oh, are you—are you  _ shy? _ Is that what this is? Sweetheart, if I wanted people to see you naked, we’d be making a production of it. Uh-uh. This is a private showing.” 

He undoes his cufflinks as he speaks, sets them in the cup holder, then taps the window. An electric blue halo ripples out from the point of contact, shimmers for a second, then dissipates. 

“StarkTech mirrormask windows. Illegal, technically. But I bought a few judges and the Chief of Police this morning, so who the hell cares.” His fingers pause as he loosens his tie; he shoots Peter a criminal grin in the mirror. 

“It is fun though. Putting my boy in a glass box where only I can see him. Now, Peter,” he yanks the tie down to his collarbone, and a hard edge sharpens his voice.  _ “Don’t make me tell you again.” _

Peter flinches back into the seat and pulls his shirt up. He holds his breath as he whips it off. He’s sweaty despite the air conditioning.

_ I bought a few judges... _ He said it so casually. 

He said it like he plans to  _ stay. _

Peter licks his lips, trying to get enough spit to speak. “Sir, are we going back to the tower?”

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Stark hums, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. The reactor glows like a distant star through the fabric.

Peter tries to feel something besides heat—some kind of resolution, some resistance—but there’s nothing. Just the static in his head and the tingle under his skin. When Mr. Stark’s icy blue eyes snap to him again, a silent warning, Peter whips his belt open and undoes his pants. He’s so light-headed he barely feels embarrassed as he tugs both pants and boxers over the All-Star Converse that Mr. Stark had ordered him to keep on.

He’s naked. He’s actually **_naked_** in the _back of_ ** _Mr. Stark’s car_** in the **_middle_** _of his college’s_ ** _front lawn_** and oh, god, he’s shaking all over. At this point, the a/c alone might make him cum. Or pass out. There seems to be an equal chance for both.

Mr. Stark has shrugged out of his suit coat and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. Peter stares at his thick forearms while the man fishes through his pocket. He pulls out a small bottle and tilts it over his palm.

_ Lube, _ Peter realizes.

“Mr. Stark, can we please start driving? Oh god.  _ Please. _ Oh god.” There’s a girl outside taking pictures of the car. Peter hunches over himself.  _ “Oh god,”  _ he whispers to his knees.

Mr. Stark straddles the front two seats and leans back between them. He pushes Peter’s shoulder, guiding him until he sits up, his throbbing cock exposed. Peter cups his arms around his legs, trying to block the side view.

“Just  _ look _ at you,” Mr. Stark purrs. “Does it feel good when Daddy humiliates you, baby boy? You get so flushed and pretty for me.” 

Mr. Stark is halfway into the back seat, now. If anyone sees this, Peter will have to change schools.

Mr. Stark reaches between Peter’s legs and slicks his hand down the length of his cock. The lube is warmed from his palm, the glide impossibly smooth. Peter bites into his lip to stop the moan. Mr. Stark thumbs Peter’s lip out of his mouth, rubs where his teeth have indented it. Peter’s breath shudders into his palm. 

This is so unreal. His skin is on  _ fire. _

“My good baby boy,” Mr. Stark whispers. “Daddy’s gonna help you make it home without cumming. What do you say?”

“Thank you, Daddy.” The words spill from Peter’s mouth without thought. An intoxicating buzz rushes through him when he sees Mr. Stark’s pleased smile. 

The man’s hand tightens around his cock. Peter’s hips jerk forward of their own accord; his back arches and he’s going to cum, he can’t stop it—

But Mr. Stark holds him even tighter, pushes a ring of black silicone down over his slick shaft and works it tight around the base of his cock. Peter knows what a cock ring is (in theory) but this is an entirely new sensation. The pressure takes him back from the edge. A loud, protesting whine bursts free from his chest. Peter immediately shoots a glance at the window. Two students are posing in front of the car while a third takes their photo.

“Hmm, yeah the car’s not soundproof,” Mr. Stark smirks. “Alright. Put your feet up on the shoulders of the seats.” 

Peter’s staring in fascination at the cock ring, but his head snaps up at those words. “On the...the…”

“Oh, baby. You need to do as you’re told.” Mr. Stark grabs Peter’s chin in a firm grip and makes a falsely sympathetic face. Peter’s hair stands on end, an instant before the slap hits. 

He could have avoided it. But he didn’t.

Peter stares directly into Mr. Stark’s iceberg blue eyes, spreads his legs wide, and braces his feet on the outer shoulders of the driver and passenger seats. 

He’s never in his life been this exposed. The whole side of his face tingles. If his heart beats any faster, he’s going to have a heart attack. There are people  _ all around them.  _ His biology professor is outside the window now, grinning, he’s grinning at the  _ car _ but it looks like he’s grinning right at Peter and Mr. Stark.

“Breathe slow, son,” Mr. Stark chuckles, carnivorous with his teeth bared. “You’re gonna make yourself pass out.”

_ “Please drive,” _ Peter begs, his voice barely a wheeze of air. He needs to see  _ his _ Mr. Stark. He needs to get back to the tower. He shouldn’t be doing this, he should stop this, but he  _ can’t,  _ he can’t say no to Mr. Stark; even if it’s not the one he’s known these last few years, it’s still  _ him. _

“Shh, shh,” Mr. Stark hushes him. His hand closes over Peter’s mouth, pushes his head back against the seat and the sob Peter’s been holding back comes out full force, now that he’s been silenced. Hot tears roll down his cheeks. He’s so exposed, so vulnerable like this and someone’s going to see, someone’s camera flash is going to penetrate the car window and his life will be over, Mr. Stark is going to  _ ruin _ him—

“Shh, oh, baby,” Mr. Stark purrs. “Crying for me already. You look so good like this.” 

He strokes down the length of Peter’s cock and Peter squirms, every nerve on fire. His heartbeat overwhelms the sounds from outside the car. He can almost tune out the world, almost pretend it’s just him and Mr. Stark, that there’s no audience poised to witness this complete and utter debauchery. His tears have turned the car’s interior to a smear of gray sunlight.

Something wet and cold touches his anus, snapping him back to reality like a shotgun blast. Peter kicks against the seats, not on purpose, but it makes the car shift and he freezes. 

“Pete?” Mr. Stark cocks his head, a feral smile baring his canines. “You keep kicking like that, you might just nudge the door open. Not to say that I’d mind an audience. Let the vermin see what they could never hope to have.” Whatever Mr. Stark has pushed against Peter’s hole, he nudges it inside while he speaks. 

Peter whimpers behind that callused palm. He grabs both of the man’s wrists, but doesn’t fight. If he fights, the car will rock. Someone will open the door, and his face (and the rest of him) will be plastered on every tabloid in the  _ world. _

If he fights, this might stop, and he’s barely thought of a single thing other than Mr. Stark since the two of them took his virginity. So Peter just holds the man’s arms, digging his fingers into cords of muscle while the dildo spreads him open. It isn’t as big as Mr. Stark’s cock, but it’s foreign. Unease becomes discomfort, discomfort becomes pain, and soon he’s struggling not to scream because he can’t possibly open any wider. Tears pour down his cheeks, wetting Mr. Stark’s hand over his mouth. 

A crest of sharp heat like he’s going to tear, then the pressure subsides. The widest part of the toy sucks up inside him and the base rests cool outside his anus. Peter’s whole body trembles and maybe he actually  _ is _ going to shake apart. At this moment, it hardly seems outside the realm of possibility.

The hand over his mouth tightens. Peter blinks tears away, opens his eyes to see dilated pupils ringed in icy blue. Mr. Stark is devouring Peter with those eyes, lips parted as though he might moan out loud. His tongue runs back and forth over his bottom lip, the same gesture Peter has known for years, and it sends a shudder through his insides. 

They may have only just met, but this is no stranger.

_ “Almost,” _ Mr. Stark rasps, then stops, as though the strained sound of his voice surprises him. He gives his head a little shake, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a palmful of silver. Half of it spills from his hand as he brings it toward Peter: chain, like a necklace, with a clamp on the end.

Mr. Stark releases Peter’s mouth, strokes down his throat and pauses to grip around his windpipe. Peter’s eyes slip shut on their own. 

A rap on the window has them snapping back open. It’s a student, someone Peter doesn’t know. He’s  _ GOT A CAMERA IN ONE HAND  _ and he raps again with the other. His voice comes muffled through the glass.

“Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark, could I just get a picture of you, real quick, it’ll only take a second and it would be  _ so  _ amazing—”

Mr. Stark and Peter lock eyes, and the man actually  _ grins; _ he grins like he’s about to  _ bite. _

“A picture of you, like this? I’d keep that on my desk.” 

_ “Please, no,” _ Peter mouths, hardly daring to let out the breath he’s holding.

That tongue across the lip again, and Mr. Stark holds heated eye contact as he pinches one of Peter’s nipples and lifts the clamp to it.

“I’d show you off to everyone,” Mr. Stark says. He lets go of the clamp, and Peter stifles a violent jerk as it pinches down. Icy-hot pain radiates up his armpit from his nipple. He clenches his teeth, rocks his head back, lets the car seat dig into the back of his skull as Mr. Stark pulls out his other nipple. He’s going to die. He can’t possibly  _ feel _ any more than this.

“I’d have a whole photo album to share. I’d watch them wanting you. I might even call you into the office and bend you over the desk. Spread your ass and show them how tight you are. Mmm, so sensitive.” He does something to each of the clamps and the pressure loosens, just a bit, just enough that Peter can breathe again. Mr. Stark’s palm brushes across his cheek, soothing as a cold compress against his hot skin. Peter leans into the touch, desperate for something to ground him.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me? Hmm?”

His tone is so condescending, it turns the heat in Peter’s chest to a roaring fire. He can’t string a coherent thought together. He’s never felt so helpless, so desperate.

_ “Yes, sir,”  _ he chokes.

Mr. Stark smirks, because of course he knew that was the only possible answer. Outside the window, another knock and a question. Mr. Stark doesn’t even glance that way.

“Stay put until I tell you to move,” he says, then slides back into the driver’s seat with liquid grace. The lack of his touch is like starvation. 

The Audi’s engine flares to life. Mr. Stark adjusts the rear view mirror so that he’s looking directly at Peter. His eyes rove up and down Peter’s body, the gaze like a caress and it’s not enough, it’s not  _ nearly _ enough.

Peter’s heart trips over itself as the window moves downward. He chokes on his breath, sees the bright yellow shirt of that student with the camera  _ ohmygodtheCAMERA _ —

“Hands off the car,” Mr. Stark snaps.

Then the window is up, the tires catch hold of the grass and they rocket forward, scattering students like a flock of startled birds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop by my [Tumblr](http://subverbaldreams.tumblr.com/fics) and say hi!
> 
> Oh hey I'm also on [NewTumbl](http://subverbaldreams.newtumbl.com/) for the more explicit stuff.


	3. Wrecked (or: Off-Label Uses for StarkTech)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [Ru17](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ru17/) and Ilyshaa for the beta reads!

Tony Stark drives his prize back to Stark Tower with the utmost care.

He makes absolutely sure to hit every pothole. He speeds up for every speed bump.

He slams the brakes for every stop light, floors the pedal for each acceleration, and makes sure to line up the Audi’s windows with the cars around them. 

After all. Why rule the world if it means you can’t have any fun?

The rear view mirror reveals that from the ribs up, Peter has turned cherry red. His little gasps and moans as the butt plug shifts inside him have Tony’s cock leaking in his pants. The way his Converse squeak against the seat shoulder, just behind Tony’s left ear, is making him almost as distracted as Peter so clearly is. 

At the next red light, Tony lines them up beside a car full of construction workers. He watches Peter’s tear-filled eyes flick to the window, drinks in the boy’s shallow, panicked gasps as the rough-looking men lean around each other to ogle the Audi.

“Hey, man! That’s a fuckin’ sweet ride!” one of them calls.

Tony twists around in his seat. He reaches back to brush his knuckles against Peter’s inner thigh. A hungry moan nearly escapes him when he realizes how much the boy is shaking. 

“Yeah, he is,” Tony says. His voice comes out thick. Peter was delicious in the mirror, but looking at him head-on, Tony is almost _salivating._

The boy is completely naked except for his black and white Converse All-Stars, his feet braced against the outer shoulders of the driver’s and passenger’s seats. His pale thighs wide open, his cock flushed, choked at the base by the cock ring Tony had put on him. Clamps bite deep into each of the boy’s nipples, a chain dangling between. The gleaming, silver butt plug pushes his ass cheeks apart.

His boy. 

Completely, perfectly on display.

Peter’s chest, ears, neck, even his _shoulders_ are blushing. His sweet, helpless eyes flick between Tony and the group of men all smiling through the window. It’s tinted so that no one can see in, but it gives the illusion that the men are looking right at Peter.

Tony grins savagely and strokes his own chest, tracing the arc reactor and the resting Endo-Sym armor that surrounds it. 

“Poor Pete. You’re all tensed up. How about a massage?”

Desperate eyes turn back to him. Peter’s lips open to release a whimper and Tony has to grab himself through his pants; that sound makes his cock _ache._ And his symbiotic armor—it reacts to his neural commands, no matter where it is.

The butt plug ripples and expands inside Peter’s _almost_ virgin hole.

The reaction is more perfect than he could have imagined. Peter cries out like he’s been punched in the stomach. He kicks his legs straight, rocking the car and driving his head up into the low back window. Tony squeezes his own cock through his pants. Imagines it filling Peter up. Pushing so deep into his body, he can hardly breathe. 

The plug grows, responding with liquid obedience to every lustful thought that rolls through Tony’s mind. Peter bucks off the seat. He clutches the upholstery, the headrests, pushes against the windows. He squirms every which way that he can—but he never takes his feet off the shoulders of the front and passenger seat. Even now, he _obeys._ The extent of his submission almost makes Tony want to call off his whole plan and fuck the boy senseless, right here in the middle of a New York intersection. 

_“Please! Please, ohmigod. Please, oh god,”_ Peter whimpers.

“Please?” Tony’s eyebrows converge in mock confusion. “You want it harder?” The plug thrusts itself deep into Peter’s body in unison with Tony’s words. The boy lets out a keening wail that can surely be heard from outside the car.

“Deeper?” Tony adds, teeth baring in a shark’s smile. The leather upholstery tears beneath Peter’s clutching fingers as the plug lengthens inside him, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice the damage he’s caused, and Tony couldn’t care less. 

“How about _faster?”_

Choking on his own breath, Peter shakes his head frantically. He’s writhing like a possessed thing, tortured by the length of armor inside him that’s now gone deeper than any human cock could have. His whole body is glistening with fresh sweat. Tony relents, allows the plug to shrink back to its original size with the barest brush of his thoughts, and Peter sags back against the seat like he’s been released from an electrical shock. His chest heaves with each panting breath, and his mouth pulls tight around a pained grimace.

 _“Ple-e-ease,”_ Peter sobs. His fingertips flutter over one of the nipple clamps, not quite touching it. “These _really hurt,_ Mr. Stark,” he gasps. _“Please_ lemme take them off.”

He’s actually crying, shamed little sobs with his eyes averted and his cheeks red as ripe apples. Tony is about to relent, knowing what he now does of Peter’s enhancement, his heightened sensitivity. He’d rather use that sensitivity later than overwhelm it all from the outset. But a flash of lights through the rear view window and a loud honk startle Tony and Peter both. The boy jumps, then cries out as that movement forces the plug deeper inside him. It jars them both out of the moment, and that?

That is.

Unforgivable.

“Stay,” Tony snarls. This time, he doesn’t put his faith in Peter’s obedience. Cords of his armor fly out from his collar and shirtsleeves to bind Peter’s ankles to the seats where his heels rest. They tie his arms to his sides, his wrists together in his lap, and collar his throat tight against the back seat.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter cries, trying to tug away from the seat. His voice follows Tony out of the car and into the street, where traffic scrawls past and the light he’s parked in front of glares green down at him.

“Mr. Stark!!! Close the door! _Close the door!”_

Tony files away his boy’s panicked cries for later enjoyment, and fixes his baleful glare on the worm hunkered behind the wheel of the gray Honda behind them.

—-

A moment of rationality seeps through the haze of arousal, the humiliation and pain that stick between Peter’s synapses like hot taffy.

Mr. Stark has tied him up like a disobedient dog. He’s slammed out of the car in such a furious rush that the door is still wide open. So that _Peter_ is still wide open, on display for the curious stares from the dozens of cars lazily passing him by.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter breathes, because he’s going to break the rules Mr. Stark gave him, but he can’t, he really and truly can’t do this. He can’t sit here with his legs wide open where half of New York can see him.

His clothes. He needs to get to his clothes. 

Peter flexes to break the silver cords around him. They dig into his skin, but there is no give.

He flexes again. Still nothing.

_This can’t be happening._

The light changes to red. Cars back up, closer and closer until they’re right next to the Audi and— _oh god, this isn’t happening_ —it’s a man on a motorcycle, no helmet _(so_ not safe!), his salt and pepper hair slicked back. His eyes trace the car first and then land on Peter.

His eyes widen, taking in Peter’s face, his chest and down between his legs. His scruffy mouth stretches in a disbelieving grin, then he looks around, like he’s searching for the car’s owner.

And Peter, well.

He panics.

  


—-

He can hardly look away from his boy for a minute, Tony reflects, as he returns from educating the driver behind them in the ways of public decency. 

A cold glare does nothing to dissuade the prick on the motorcycle from leering in through the Audi’s open door, so Tony sends a repulsor blast that knocks the man off his bike and over the hood of the adjacent car.

Fuck it. He’d tried to be nice.

The Audi is rocking on its suspension from Peter thrashing inside. The seat rolls forward at a word from Tony, just enough that he can slip into the backseat beside Peter, who is trying to kick free of his bonds without success. The endo-sym armor has embedded itself into the car’s own frame; even Peter won’t be able to get out of it without tearing the car apart.

Peter’s outstretched left leg gives Tony no choice but to get up close and personal. Not that this is a burden. No, Tony is more than happy to slide in under the jerking limb until his own leg is halfway beneath Peter’s delectably stretched ass. He wraps a hand around Peter’s thigh and grabs hard to get his attention, bruising that smooth flesh the way it always should be: purpled by his hands, a new mark for every day that Tony owns him. Peter’s struggles subside; he flinches away from Tony. More afraid than aroused, now, though the cock ring won’t let his erection soften. Peter’s eyes flick to the doors, the windows, quick and frightened like the caged little creature he is. His chest heaves with little, panting breaths.

“I want to put my clothes on,” he says, in a surprisingly steady voice. He’s rallying his courage. 

So cute.

“I know you do,” Tony says. He strokes Peter’s thigh, petting the bruised outline of his own hand there. Then, to the car: “Get us home, darlin’.”

“Yes, sir,” comes a sultry, female voice from the car’s dashboard. Peter flinches at the sound. He’s gone tense all over. No longer fighting, but still packed with adrenaline. The car accelerates as the light changes, keeping pace with traffic. Peter’s liquid caramel eyes flick from the road to Tony.

“You never let anyone else drive,” he murmurs, soft like it’s a revelation.

“I’m always the one driving,” Tony replies. He slides his hand up Peter’s inner thigh, slips his fingers into the silver pool of the butt plug. The symbiote armor clings to his fingers like flesh. Spreads to make room for him. The expansion of the plug stretches Peter’s abused hole in the process so that the boy arches beautifully in Tony’s lap.

“No, please,” Peter moans, the word and his tone in glaring opposition.

Tony shushes him.

“You want this.”

His middle and ring fingers plunge knuckle-deep into the plug’s base. Liquid silver flows up his fingers and over the back of his hand.

“It hurts,” Peter gasps. 

Tony hums a wordless agreement.

“Please! Please, Tony— _AAAHHH!”_

Peter’s voice devolves into a scream that crests and breaks as Tony pinches one of the nipple clamps.

“Excuse me?” he asks calmly. He twists the clamp between his fingers, savors the breathless cries. The boy’s squirming is too much to resist, and Tony slides fully underneath him, so the base of the butt plug rests squarely on top of his own hard cock. Some of the liquid metal slides out and molds itself over Tony’s cock through his pants. The psionic armor is reacting to his thoughts, which are consumed by the memory of Peter’s virgin body sucking his dick so hard that it hurt.

“Give us a mirror,” Tony rasps, tapping the car seat as if to get its attention.

Blue-white light washes across the front windshield, solidifies into a perfect mirrored surface. His sweet little Peter, straining to wiggle out of his lap. Peter’s sculpted shoulders, hunched inward from the ever-increasing pain of the nipple clamps. Tears slip down his smooth cheeks to hit his fists, which are clenched almost protectively over his hard-on.

“My pretty boy,” Tony murmurs. He strokes and squeezes Peter’s inner thighs.

Then he slaps them both. _Hard._

Peter jumps in his lap, which forces the plug deeper. The cry that rips out of his throat is raw enough to raise the hair on Tony’s neck. Tony presses his lips against the boy’s ear and rubs them back and forth, scratching the fevered flesh with his goatee, drawing Peter’s attention back from the pain in his nipple.

“You’re my smart boy, aren’t you, Pete? I know you haven’t forgotten my rules already. Now,” he traces the red marks he’s slapped into Peter’s thighs, “tell me the three ways you are allowed to address me?”

“Sir,” Peter gasps. He shrinks from Tony’s hands, which just grinds his ass harder against Tony’s cock. 

“That’s one,” Tony says.

“Mr. Stark.” Peter tilts his face toward Tony’s. A blooming flower, searching for his sun.

“Two…” Tony’s voice is husky.

Peter swallows with a soft click. _“Daddy,”_ he breathes, and Tony almost goes soft in that moment. 

Almost.

Instead, he slaps Peter’s cheek and then grips his throat cruelly, hungry to see his marks bruised into his boy’s flesh. “You really are my perfect little cockslut, aren’t you, baby?” 

Peter‘s mouth works silently for a moment. And even though his face is still cherry red, his heart still thudding so hard Tony feels it in his chest, even though he’s been pushed beyond any boundaries he’s previously built, those words still drip honey-sweet from his lips: 

“Anything you want.” 

Tony chuckles, and feels Peter shiver.

“Anything... **_I_ ** _...want,”_ he says slowly, caressing each word with this tongue. “I’m gonna hold you to that, son.”

Another full-body tremor wracks though his boy. His poor, sweet orphaned boy, who’s never known a father’s guiding hand. Well. They can do something about that. Tony slides his hand over Peter’s straining cock, just barely touching it.

“Show me how you _fuck,_ baby boy. Show Daddy how you rut your pillow at night while you’re crying my name. _Move!”_ He slaps the red handprint on Peter’s thigh, watches the color darken in the mirror. Peter humps up into Tony’s palm, hips rocking wildly and jarring the butt plug between them. 

“Is that how you do it?” Tony asks, his tone bored. “Jerking your hips around like a clumsy little puppy?” He yanks Peter’s hair back to see his face and is pleased with what he finds, the trembling lips and eyes shiny with tears.

“You hump your bed til you cum every night, baby? You think I’d let you get your rocks off, just like that? Hmm?” He shakes Peter’s head by the hair. “You think I wouldn’t discipline my own, personal whore? That I wouldn’t make you _earn_ it?”

Peter’s breath shudders on the inhale and exhale. He’s still grinding into Tony’s hand, but his motions are wild. Uncoordinated.

“What is it?” Tony purrs. “Tell Daddy what you want.”

He fully expects Peter to ask to cum. That’s the whole game, after all. But Peter goes very still. The car is filled with his uneven breaths. He turns his cheek toward Tony’s mouth, head tilted down like a penitent about to confess. He wets his lips. Opens them.

 _“Dad,”_ he says. Stops. Closes his eyes, like it’s all too much. 

Tony goes very still. He knew, of course; he’d looked up Peter Parker’s history. He knew the gaping void of a father figure was the shadow behind Peter’s hero-worship of Tony Stark. 

But _this_...this, trembling vulnerability…

This soul, exposing itself for the taking...

This is _delicious._

Tony leans into Peter’s cheek, lets his breath ghost across the boy’s neck. 

“I’m right here, _son.”_

There’s something behind the word, this time. A thrum of electricity. 

Peter squeezes his eyes tight shut. He shifts in Tony’s lap, bare skin against the fine fabric of Tony’s suit. His fingers flex, like he’s going to try and take off the nipple clamps again, but he clenches his hands together and squeezes them til his knuckles go white. 

“Is that what you want to hear?” Tony growls. “That you’re my _son?_ My only baby boy?” 

He strokes Peter’s cock with his words. Peter’s lips open over silent gasps.

“That Daddy’s proud of you?” 

Another stroke. Slide of cool flesh over hot silk. 

“Of course I am. I won’t have anything less than perfect.”

Peter’s head rocks back onto Tony’s shoulder. His hips lift into the tugs of Tony’s hand, and he doesn’t try to resist when Tony’s other arm comes up around his neck in a chokehold, squeezing until Peter’s breaths rasp in and out. His Converse squeak against the front seats as he squirms, a sound that Tony will never forget; it’s going to return to him in his wet dreams. His free hand travels all over Peter’s muscular, bound flesh as his arm slowly tightens. Peter wriggles in his lap, working his hands up toward the clamps.

“Oh? You want me to take these off, don’t you.” Tony flicks the chain between the nipple clamps, eliciting a spasm. Peter’s chin bobs in a frantic nod against the bend of Tony’s arm.

 _“But this is how I WANT you,”_ Tony snarls, jerking his arm tighter around Peter’s throat. “Do you have any idea how you look, right now? I’m going to ruin you, baby boy. You won’t be able to talk for a week after I’m through fucking your throat.” Tony’s voice devolves into a growl as he speaks. “Your ass will gape wide open when I’m done riding you. I’ll have to put a plug in it to keep my cum from sliding down your legs and into those cute shoes you’re wearing.”

Tony slips his fingers back into the base of the anal plug. Peter bucks against him, gets a cry out before Tony’s arm tightens on his throat. 

Every breath Tony lets him snatch after that is hard won. 

Within minutes, he has Peter’s thighs trembling like he’s just played the starring role in a three-day gang bang. The restriction of blood flow to his head has made the boy go pliant in Tony’s arms. His eyelids flutter slowly: the wings of a butterfly as it settles over a flower. He holds his own flushed cock in a loose grip as his hips rock into each thrust of Tony’s fingers. If the clamps still hurt him, he doesn’t show it. His reflection in the expanded front mirror is a work of art Tony wants burned into his memory.

 _“You’re such a good boy, Peter,”_ Tony breathes.

Tony bites over the muscle that joins Peter’s neck and shoulder, _hard._ Peter is so strung out on the pain from his nipples, his choked cock and his stretched asshole, he barely even screams. Tony grinds up into the boy’s writhing ass. Maybe he’ll just throw the whole plan out the window and have his pretty whore right here in the street. Let them put it on the national news.

_Tony Stark Takes What’s His._

That would be a fitting headline for his introduction to this new world. 

But when the car door jerks open, there are no cameras and precious few bystanders.

He’d been more wrapped up in Peter than he realized. They’re back at the tower; the car’s AI had brought them straight to the workshop where he’s kept his lesser twin hard at work.

Tony’s own face (a bit more lined, a bit less handsome, and with brown eyes instead of blue) glares into the backseat, a tumult of rage and horror fighting to dominate his expression.

 _“Let...him...GO,”_ Tony’s doppleganger seethes between clenched teeth. Peter whimpers, eyes gone wide with a dazed sort of fear.

Tony makes a show of drawing his fingers back out of the plug. Strands of silver cling to his fingertips as he pulls his hand away. He wipes his fingers against Peter’s thigh as though cleaning them off.

He holds his twin’s glare, bares his teeth in triumph.

“Isn’t this nice. We were just getting him ready to see you.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on [tumblr](http://subverbaldreams.tumblr.com/fics), [newtumbl](http://subverbaldreams.newtumbl.com/), [or twitter](http://twitter.com/SubverbalD). 
> 
> kudos = It was ok  
> Keysmash = I liked it so much I ajadhdhd!!1!!1
> 
> I consume comments like tasty, tasty snacks. I print them out and roll around in them. Seriously, it’s your enthusiasm that’s kept me going on this one. I hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I’ve begun posting a story on here called **[Eternity Rising: Family Ties](http://archiveofourown.org/works/19401694/)**. It’s my original work and who knows, you might like it. It’s already written in its entirety. I’ll post 1 chapter/week, updating on Saturdays. Just heads up, it carries archive warnings and it gets very dark. Hope to see you over there!


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